


The Tragedy of Layton Obama

by MabelLover



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Crack, Humor, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23911279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MabelLover/pseuds/MabelLover
Summary: The Professor Layton Discord server is a wild place.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. The Brownie Tragedy

Once upon a time, in a Britain of unspecified era, lived two little boys, Layton and Tupperware Brownie, and their parents, Rachel and Li0on. The little family lived rather separate from the rest of the villagers, who considered them oddballs; the father, Li0on Brownie, was an archeologist with a big interest in an ancient civilization called Ass-Sucks. Rachel supported her husband’s passions, and it was not uncommon to see the family in various diggings, and one of the children’s favourite pastimes was to pretend to be archeologists.

Layton was a few years older than Tupperware, and made sure to take care of his little brother. They often woke up in the middle of the night to bake some brownies in secret, and Tupperware stashed them in the secret minifridge they’d stolen from a hotel room once. Lion was oblivious to this, and Rachel found it too funny to say anything.

Of course, it was here that things started to go wrong. One day, Li0on opened the door to find a number of armed individuals claiming to be from an organization called Target, dedicated to finding and selling in supermarkets the legacy of the Ass-Sucks. They wanted him to join them, but Li0on resisted, resulting in the kidnapping of not only himself, but also his wife Rachel, who’d tried to make the agents free her husband.

Layton and Tupperware were left in the house by themselves. A Social Services lady told Layton that they would be eventually contacted about adoptions. Until then, the two children were left to think of what happened and stress-eat the brownie stash.

Until one day Layton Brownie heard the doorbell. The mailman handed him a letter – it was from the adoption agency. He opened it quickly, tearing through the envelope. And his face fell. It said that a nice family was planning to adopt, but only one child. And it wasn’t Tupperware; it was Layton.

So Layton, as a good big brother, concocted a plan.


	2. Welcome to Cheesebury

Layton Obama wasn’t quite sure about moving to a village in the middle of nowhere. Sure, his Uncle Douglas lived there and said it was a lovely place, but he didn’t really want to leave London. Still, there was nothing he could do at fifteen-years-old, so he put his suit on and brushed his teeth and followed Ma to the car.

The trip was boring, and not even planning a reformation of the healthcare system did anything to make it any less dull. A droning sound could be heard in the background, something in the desert, but the car passed it before Layton could get a good look. He resigned himself to listening to Boris Johnson on the radio and pretending to sleep.

When the car finally slowed down, Layton stepped out even though the engine hadn’t stopped, and rolled in the hot asphalt, burning his skin with the friction, but the Queen decided to grant him mercy and made the Illuminati use a restore HP potion on him. With that, he went back to his feet and found an excitable red-head coming in his direction.

“Hello!1!!!!” the boy said. “Welcome!!!! Do you want to be my friend?!! Where are you from?1! Do you like archeology? My name is Randall Cottage-Cheese!!!!!!1!!!! What’s yours?!!!”

“Layton Obama, nice to-“ but the boy had already looped his arm around Layton’s, and was dragging him up to a blonde girl he had somehow not noticed before.

“Angle!!!1!!!!!! Look, a new friend!!!”

The girl was indeed very pretty, like an angel, and very bright. Very, very bright. Layton wished he had brought his sunglasses.

“Nice to meet you,” said the girl. “My name is Angle Camembert. And this” she pointed to a thin, prim looking boy, “is Henry. Henry Leerdammer.”

Layton found it a bit funny. “Like the cheese?”

“YEahh!!!!1!!!!!!!!!! Here in Cheesebury, everyone is a cheese!!”

“ _A_ cheese?”

“Well, I’d prefer not to have to show you, but…” Angle sighed before raising her hand. She had a piece of cheese in it. “Ultimate Camembert Power!”

Wings appeared from her back, and her whole body glowed with a pink light. Angle became smaller.

And smaller.

And smaller.

And smaller.

Until the light faded. A piece of Camembert with mini-wings laid on the floor.

“That’s… Angle?” Layton was appalled.

Randall laughed while nodding frantically, and Henry spoke up.

“Miss Angle will be back in an instant. In the meantime…”

He picked the cheese up from the ground and placed it inside his pocket.

“I believe your parents will need help, Layton.”

“YEahh1!!!!! Come on, I’ll take you there!!”

And so, Layton Obama walked with his newfound friends to his new home in Cheesebury.


	3. The Many Sandwiches of Brenda B. T. Lettuce

Brenda thought herself to be a good sandwich maker. She had it in her blood, after all. All of those liquid sandwiches she’d injected into her bloodstream had to be good for something.

Her Maman hadn’t raised a lazy jelly-peanut butter sandwicher, after all. No, she’d been born, raised and even married to make sure that she would make the perfect, delicious, ideal, dreamy BLT sandwich. She was Brenda Bacon Tomato Lettuce. She identified, at her very core, with a sandwich, and Tumblr had validated her. She _was_ a sandwich. A BLT sandwich.

Brenda breathed sandwiches. A time when she wasn’t surrounded by sandwiches was like being asthmatic and not having an inhaler. The doctor had despaired at the state of her lungs, tomato seeds and juice and bacon oil all over them, but Brenda was a sandwich. She wasn’t worried. And cough is normal. So is severe breathing incapacity.

And above all, Brenda B. T. Lettuce loved her son Luke dearly. Her Little Sandwich had been under Layton Obama’s care so that Brenda and Clark could *ahem* _spend_ some time together, and he seemed happier than ever. Brenda believed that she and Clark could also attain that level of happiness, as soon as he stopped asking her to forgo her sandwich-making in bed.

But alas, maybe sometimes one can’t always have what one wants.


	4. Fuck Bill

Bill is in the afterlife. He thinks. He remembers, at the very least, falling from Obama’s car. And while that makes sense, he’d prefer to be alive and kicking. At the very least alive.

“O̵̻̻̲̪̟̣͉͐W̸̖̱̫̬̻̌́̊̊ͅO̴̡̯̯̩̙̱̻͉͎̜͌̋͗͘̕͠ ̵̧̨̥̻͉̭͔̳̣̳̻̩̿͐͜Ẃ̶̛̱̳̥̩̬̖̣̑̃̈́̋͂͂̋̓Ḥ̷̡̡͖̩̖̙͚͛͐̅͝A̵̧̨̘͍̱̟͇͓̗̖̱̫̥̳̖̋͝T̴̂͌̅͛̏̎̈̐͆́̚͜’̴̨͎͎̘̂̆̉̋̀̔Ş̷̧̨̛͍̯̰̳͙̫̰͔͖͙̺̿ ̸͔̝͖̺̜̈͗̌̏͊̀̄̎̎̊͛͆͌̉T̷̙͇̖͖̖̏̌͆̈́̃̑͑̑̅̂͋̽͘ͅH̸̙̘̩̎̂Ǐ̴̡̲̗͙̺͖̻̫̌̓̈́̌̇̍͊̌͐̈̕͘͜S̸̛̱̻͚̈̎͑̂͒̏͂͒?̴̗̪̤̫̪̞̝̩̥̭̹͂̈́͑͆̂͑̇̏͌͂̾?̸̦͖̠̄̇͆̽̑͠”

The voice boomed in the darkness. It sounded old, a primal god awoken from slumber.

“Ḁ̵͕̝̉̿̿̈́́͋̑͐̉̅̚͜ ̴̤͙̹͔̭̹̯̯͔̥̩͉͊̏̓̿̃̅̇͜H̶̨̧̡̭͍̘͕̳̩̜͙̤̪̽̉̿̔̌͌͂͆͋͑̊̚͜͝U̶̲̍̽͗̾̇̄́̐̔̊͘͝͠M̷̢͉̦͖̰̥͉̻̳̗̙̆̀͝Ą̴͚̱̖͙͠N̴̝͖͔̠͉͎͖͍͈̥͍̐̈́̿͛͛̌̏̇̔͗͌̆͊̚?̵̯̘́̾̉͊?̸̱̗̺̹̩̫̲͍͎͕͉̜̂͐͜ͅ ̴̛̩̱̗̠͐͆͌̾̓͊̋̇̈͗̑̂̽͜W̵̻̯̘̣̥̯̺̣̰̱̬̩̖͓͑̓̇́̆͛͝Ǫ̸̡̡̝̪̭͉̩̖̼̯̰̮̫͐̾̋W̸̧̢̧̢̛̝̜̪̝͕͚̣̭̼̅͛̊͌͜͜I̸̡̩͎̜͈̻̝̳̰̔͜Ẻ̸͉̗͎͚̋!̷̤̪̩̞͈̱̼̻͛!̸̢̧̲̜̗̬̩̫̞̣̝͙̃̔͑͠͝!̴̠̯̟̲͓̪͇͎̬͓̈́̂̍̈́͜͝ ̶̛̺̮̲̦̭̥̎̍̂̄̐̋͑͂̕͝W̸̨̥̯͓̠̣͖͖̬̣͉̩̙̌̅͐H̴̛̦̗̅̍̄̂͂̎̆̑͗̆͝͠O̵̧͚̬̭̳͚̙̯̊̉͆͘͝ ̷̛̺͕̦̱̐͗̈́͐̏̍̚͝͝Ã̴̧͇̺̯̜̼̥̩͖͒͆͌̇̒̂̄̅̂͝ͅR̸̢̢̧̢̛̠̬͎̪̳̣̱̭̤̥̉͗̍̆̾̅̍̏̀͒͑̓͝E̴̳͛͌̅̉̑̌̌̊̏͂̆͂͆͝͝ ̵͎̪͎̘̩͔̮̦̤̤̞͈̰̬̓͊́̄͋͑͂͗̕Y̷̧̤̼̞̜͓̹͚̦̗̻͔̬̠͋̔͊̓͜Ŏ̸̖̹̫͎͎͉̣̟̠͇̩̟̟̯̎̎̉̚͝U̶̦͕͔̹̺̮̝̯͊̅̿̎̓̆̽̓͛̀̈́̐͜͠ ̴̠̗̠̥͈̈́̆̾̑̉͑̉̈́͗͘͝H̶̡̰̞͈̭̙̞̞̼̟͔̗̳̫͐̆̍͌͌̈̓͊̍͊͜͝U̷͙͔͎̱̘͉̳̭̤͎̥͓͕͐̈̑͂̾̽͊͊̎̈́͌͌̎͜͠M̶̦̝͈̫͙͔͎̝̀͗̂̀̎̏̈́̓̇̇̒̈́̍̒Ą̵͚̤̙̰̣̰̫̓̽̂̉̽̆̚ͅǸ̵̬̩͈͇͔͉̗͕̝̳̲̓̏̊̈͆̌͌͑̊̕͝?̴̡̜̗̠̣̪̩͓͕͍͙̠̟̟̪̎̽̄̒͘͠”

“Hmm…” Bill hesitated. Dark tendrils shot out from the darkness and wrapped around him, tightening fast. “Bill! Bill Hawks!”

“Ȉ̴̧̧̟̜̯̦͍̜̟̖̳͔͔͖̈̇̏̐̀͛͂́̃́̏̇̕͝Ş̸̡̨̣͕͚͚̘̤̗̳̲̬̹̄̑̈́̌̈́̾ ̸̛̪̣̗̩͎͙͓͚͕̯̐͆̍͘Ť̸̡̢̡̟̞̜̰̱͇̖̯H̶̗͔͙͓̞͔̙̘̓͂̍͗̓͆́̍̓̏͑̕͜Ą̷͉̗͍̫̗͕̲̙̣͓͐̇̒̅̎̈́͛͒̂̕T̷̢̧̯̱̭͎͎̞̻̮̼̣̭̉̊̅̅͒̓̽͂͗̈́̕ ̶͚̮̖̖̰̩̯̯̩̓̂́̃̐͊͋̄̚͜S̸̛̺̳̬̩̭̻̟̖̣̲͖͙̽̇̆̐̌̌͋̌̿͠Ǫ̵̹̞͍̦͖̝̼̫̝̭̼͛ ̷̡̪̫̹̜̤͕̩̼͈̪̮͚̟͚̾̊Ô̸̧̼̗̗͎̌̅̏̏͗̾̍̌̀͘̕̚W̶̡͉̰̰̟̳̩̤̟͒̿͊̿̉̈́̚͜͝O̷̪̳͍͖̗̪͉̻̹͒̈́͒̓̓̔̆̈̑?̷̛̯̩̘̤̹̤̙̼̰̗̄̄͒͛̏̈́̿̕͠” the being let go of Bill and he fell to the floor. “Ẅ̶̳̻͔͎͇͇̞̞͎̤́͆͑̇̚͜͜͜͝ͅḨ̷̤̰̠͎͙̻͛̇I̸̡̧͎̘̟͎͍͓̲͓̳̍̏̑́̐Ļ̷̛̣͙̣͕̪̓̉́̑͗̍̂̊Ẽ̴͓̣̗̫͎̙͌̈̎̅̕ ̷̛̘̙̮̃̽Ȋ̴͉̻͎̱̯̻͕͇̙̆͂̊̈́͝ͅ ̴̱̓́̑̇͑͊̅͑̌̇̈́͛̕̚W̸̢̧̜̲̟͖͊̎̋̓̆̏͗̃͠O̷̧̖͉̦̳̘͚̹̫̥͙͖̼͎̽́́͒͌͌̋͋͂͠͝͝ͅȖ̴̟̜̦̝̝̐̾̆̈̉̅͋̃̓͌͘̕̕͝L̶̰̗̤̻͙̻̐͛̇̾D̴̛̛̙̮̘̟͖̱̹͈̝̹̣̝̮͍͒̈́͆͘ ̴̧̧̦̱͖̼͌̓̈̔͑͗̑͊̀̔A̸̘̹̋͑̊̏̔B̶͍͇͇̆̔̍̐͝S̷̼͎̮̠̝̏̑̾͊̄͘Ơ̵̬̬͉̬̪̤̹̳͋͆͊̌͗͒͋͑̇̈́̕͠͝L̷̝̥̻̯̭̝̻̒͐̆͐͝Ǔ̷͉̤̫̽̍̓̋̈̾͌̒̎͛͐̚͘T̷̢̛̞̺͉̣̜͍͔͉͐̓̾̑̄̊͜Ę̸̨̣̱̣̯̣̲͙̠̪̙̿͌͆̓̈́̿͆L̴͖̟͛͑͒͛̿͌̈́͠͝Y̵̧̡̡͙̜̮̮̣̥̲̭͖̼̯̏̍̆̑͑̈̋̅̇̚͠͝͝ ̵̨͚̖̥̟̣̳̝͈̫͙̥͖̮̬̎͑̽̆̑̓̉̈́̄̍͠A̶̿͝ͅD̸̙̘̤̟̯̪͇͙̰͈̦͓̬͊́͑̋̑̄̎̀͜͠͠͠Ō̷̖̜̜͖͕͙̞͔̩̾͐R̷̢͉͚̝͕̞̹͕̫̙̲̙̜̎̆̈͛͌͜Ȩ̵̨̝̦̻̗͇̳͕̹͈͐̐̔̓͌̑̉̂̈́̃͌͑̔ ̵̨̛͕͕̖̦̺̰̬́͑̈́̋͜Ţ̴̧̛̜̝̩̭̰͇͍̰̯̍̆͋̈͛̎͐̓̒͂͛́͜͠Ö̵̹̤̪̞̠͈̰̠̯̟̙̮̪̹̝́͛̍̈́̀͘ ̴͖̮͇͗H̸̡̛̠̩̯̰̻͕̤͕̗͕̣̼̒͒̈́͆̈͗ͅÂ̵̧̨̗̠̇̓̂͂͂͗̂̇͐̽̐͘͠V̶̨̢̨̺͍̗̒̔͝E̴̤̓̕ ̴̛̭͔̐͆̈́̉̓͐͂͝ͅY̷̪͔̿͗̾̂̆̔͊͘̕Õ̸̦̂Ư̶͍̱̦͈̘͙̏͆̈́̍̎̈́̍͊͠ͅ ̷̢̺̻̩̭̜̹̂̑̑͒̈́̾̐̎̚F̸͎̫͇͚̮̲͂͊̋̑̈́̔͐̋̐̍̒̈́͂͝O̵͙̒̽̿͝R̸͖̞̿̿͊̔͜ ̴̧̟͇̫̞̳̲̲̳̦̻͐͋̃̿͐͗͑̽̿̈́̾͜M̸̙̣̠̻̎̈́ͅY̷͉͎̓̓̈́̇͆̏͐̍̂̍̚͘̚S̷͚̟̠̘͙͚̲̤̙͕̫̠̚͠E̷͖̋̇̄͋̒̏̍͋̿̈́͂̚ͅĻ̸̱̗̟̏͆̍̎̃̒F̵̰̬̮̪͔͚̦̗͈̤͇̺̠̀̿̑̀͛͋͘͜,̶̡̛̘̮͍̖̤̤̼̞̞͆̐̉͐̉̿̂͐ͅͅ ̵̨̲͔̰͙͓͛͂̄͐̐̊͆̊Y̶̧̟̙̖̭͚̪̙̎̊͛̈̇̽͊̕Ò̶̧̨̥̦̫̺̹̯̀Ų̴͕̱̰̟̺̹̎̂͊̓̆̍̽͐̍̚̚͘͠ͅ ̷̡̣̱̼̬̯͎̱̾̈́̏̉̆̈́̔̃̑̈͝Ḧ̶̙́͌̅̔̌͐̋͑͊͠͠͝A̴̢̡̛͍̞̬͔̻̻̹̬͈̳̩̫͛̋͆̿̇̕V̸̡̛̭̮̰̼͇͉̣̞̥͎̞͛̿̾È̵̤͓̼̬̫̘̈́̈̾ ̸͖̳̩̙̝͎̗͕̋̎͛͜͝S̴̡̯̥̟̮̘̑̆̏̏̚̚͝Ờ̵̡̛̞̱͓̘̜̤͔͇̬̫̲͕̣̿̌̎̽́̇͌̋̚͠͠M̵̢̺̱̩̻̤͉̰̬̿́͋̎̔ͅȄ̸̢͖͉͎̺̳͎̃̓̽̈́͛͛̔͆̎̌̀͠͠Ţ̷̡̡̡̠͚̤̬̻̬̠̲̟͈͊͝H̶̢͓͔̦̗̮̭̮͕̼͉̹̹͂̉̂̀̌̓͆̽̿͂͘̚͠Į̴̨̛͈̟̼̲̗̱̮̫̳̲̰͈̋̂͆̄͑̓̉̎̋͒̽̽Ņ̶̖̲̿͐̈̐̔̏̈́̋̋G̵̦͈͎͍̱̩̱̰̱̯̯̟̐́͆͘͝ ̵̮͈̺̦̘͕͙̫͓͉̪̐̿̂̀̒͊͌́̌̀͘͠E̵̳̋͂̈́̔V̸̼͙͈̺̬̥̰̯̮̈̄͂̔͆̉͝Ȩ̴̼̥̖̝̭̮̳͎͖̣̮͉͆͜N̵̞̔ ̶̪̜͓́͌̄̌͊̿͗͒͊̎̕͝Ḃ̵̛̮̐͛̈́̈́̾̓͂͑͋̾̑̉͠Ę̴̘͖̯̺̱̪̭͕̪̱͓͓͆̽̊̄̀͛̓̿T̵̡̝̺͖̖̤̖͚͕̹͙͚̾́̔͊͒͋͒́̕̕T̴̡̢̟͈̱̼͔͔̘̯͇͋͒̐̽̿̅͑̌̇̒̈́͘̚͝͠Ȩ̷̛̼̹̜̼͈͔̟̥͍̘͆̀͛̚͜ͅͅR̴͎̘̮̮̝̀̅̔̄̎̾͗̓̈̈́̀̊͘̕ ̸̪͇̞̩̃̄̈́̋͂͆̂͑͆̎͝A̴̡̧̨͇̦͍̘͖͓̩̤̗̪̅̍̑̆̓͑̇̈́̔̚͝W̷̡̧̺̤̳͈̥̼̫̙͉̞̯̺͙̒̂Ą̵͚͙̣̣̇̉̑́̎͋̎̉̐̓̓̕͘Į̶̬͙͚͉̪̖̖͔̺͕̑̓̅̄͊̑͝T̴̨̞̬͕̰̭̘̣̱͌̕ͅI̴̢͈̹̙͕̳̜̯̠͍̯̓͜ͅͅͅŇ̸̢̗̯͓̝̹̙̰̳̺̣̞͂̾̔̓̕̚G̷͍͔̓̈́͒͌̄̿̚ ̸̨͓̙̯͑͊͒͑͗̿̑͌̚͠Y̶̡̤͉̪̖̏ͅŐ̴̧̡̝̤̞͙̜̥͔̫̲̟͇̓̿͆͆̈́͗͛̽̈́͗̇̚͜͝ͅŬ̸̠̪͋͌͜͜ ̸͕͖͙̻͍̝̱̝̗͍̲͎͙̥͊̎̔̌̒B̷̠̱͂̐͐͊̌̐̊Ă̴̯͓̱̹͙͙̭̱̙̯͙̬͕͍̓͝C̸̯̱̼̑̓̓́̎̊͗̕K̷͉̱̮̪̩̣͓̊̄͐̌͆̐̈́̅̕͘ ̸̡̢̙̯̞̯̣͈̯̻̭̪͇͐̈́̀̇̽̕Ţ̴͙̺̬̥̞̝̭̯̠̹̣͒̆́̐́͆H̴͉͌͑͆̓̈́͋͂͗̃̓͝Ë̷̡̢̛̜̦͖͔̣̙̲̦̤͇́̋̊̌́͠R̵͎̂̇̀́͌̅̈́͂̍̂̂̽̄̚Ẻ̸͖̚.̵̯̩̠͖͚̫̬̯͖͇̬̃̍̕̚͜ ̷͍̮̦̩̞̣̱̥̩͉̭̫͚͑̊̍͋S̶̱̻͕̈̿͐͐̊͊͊̎̅̔̎͝Ō̶̢̞̬̖̞̼͇͕̰̼̗͓͚̋̈́͘ͅ…̵̢̞͍̲̖̮̘̬̤̬͚͇̄͊̓̿̊̇̌̄̆̑̊̚͝͠”

A white space in the shape of a door appeared in the middle of the vacuum. It began to pull Bill towards it, quickly gaining strength, and he found himself flying towards it.

“B̷̜͍͇̤̬̩̼͎̘̆̌Y̶̢̛̳̪͍̝̣̳̜͈͍͛̊͑͌̋̂͜͝E̶͓̻͇̟̹͕̖̻̒̒̇̃͌͆̂͗̀̊̔̕͝ ̴̧̡̢̯̣̳̗̟͕̝̹̐̍̿̀́͜Ợ̴̧̢̯̠̩̜̩̼̯͉̌̅̏̍̇̄̑̈́͝͠W̵̘͕̣̱̮͙̞͍̱̬͇̳̬̣̔͌͌̄̆̋͘Ȯ̵̝̤̰̂̓͂̔̚!̷̣̰͓͓̫̳͇̘̿̈́̉́̒̀!̸̧̛͔͙̭̦̮͈͕̰͙̟̰͓̙̩̊̎̓̍̕̕̕!̷̨̡͚͇̥̥̜̝̮͕̘̺̂̅͠!̷̘̟̩͚̓̔̃̎̆̂͠”

* * *

Bill awoke, gasping. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, still short of breath. Looking around, he found himself in a room – his office, in fact, back at home.

“A good nap, Mister Hawks?”

Bill stiffened and turned around. The Queen was sitting on his chair, behind the desk, legs crossed with an unnatural ease for someone as old as her. A small smirk played at her lips.

“I’m disappointed in you, to be honest. I’ve had to deal with a lot of bad polititians, but you…”

She rose and turned towards the window, back to Bill. Robed figures emerged from the walls and floor and ceiling and furniture and paintings and other objects until Bill was completely surrounded by them, no chance of escape.

The Queen glanced at him above her shoulder. Bill saw some creature instead of her, some sort of… alien.

“Your Majesty-!”

“Say hello to Boris for me, won’t you?”

**Author's Note:**

> lol to you all guys


End file.
